Fabled Albion
by team happiness
Summary: Albion has once again come to flourish under the new Queen's rule. When mauled bodies begin to be discovered on the banks of Millfields, suspicion begins to fall on the once-dying balverines. A choice must be made... the extermination has begun.
1. The Ginger Balverine

"**Well, Hatch? Know anything about the balverine rumor?"** Walter interrogated, pacing around the butler bound in a decorative oak chair. Barry Hatch's face had been redder than usual with beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.

Barry let a sidelong glance slip as he shook his head, long red locks wavering with his voice, "I don't know a thing about the who-woman."

The cold, sharp tip of a blade pricked into his throat, just below his adam's apple. Barry shifted back uncomfortably as he swallowed and winced. Standing before him, the Queen held an unshaking grasp on the blade and an intense gaze, "Is that so?" The Queen had asked, "I've been known to pick out a lie or two."

Silence fell over them. Benjamin Finn, posted at the door was looking out a nearby window with rifle in hand. Page filled the distance between he and the Queen, cautiously watching the butler, ready to pull the trigger the moment he tried to lunge for escape. Reaver's mansion was filled with tension thick enough to choke on—and oh, how Barry Hatch had choked on their miserable presence.

"You have gorgeous eyes." The Queen said, taking notice of his widened, mismatched eyes. The right side blue and the left side a clear, amber brown. Her blade seemed to dip gently, as though the bitterness between all of them had subsided for a split second. Barry only breathed heavily and waited for his master's inevitable arrival—his salvation.

Ben had glanced over when he heard the Queen's compliment, an eyebrow cocked. Glancing away had been the mistake that allowed Reaver's steps up to the door of his mansion to go unnoticed.

All at once, everyone's breath siezed when the doorknob wiggled.

Page and Ben's heads jerked in the door's direction. The Queen was at a loss for reaction, both caught up in Barry's eyes and suddenly faced with the arrival of a man who could put a bullet in all of their heads faster than one could even realize he was there.

"Your Majesty!" Walter hissed.

Beyond the door, Reaver frowned as he realized the door was locked. He fished through his pocket for a key with one hand and with the other, withdrew the Dragonstomper from its holster at his thigh.

The Queen looked over her shoulder, lowering her blade before a misty-eyed Barry screamed, "Mastah Weavah!"

Reaver burst through the door and cocked his gun, "Oh, this is exactly what I love to come home to! A gaggle of annoyances who have tresspassed and tied my servant down!"

Immediately the gun was pointed against Ben's temple as he groaned, "Oh, blood—why is it always me who's got the gun to his head!"

Page reacted in a snap, turning her gun on Reaver, growling, "I will kill you if you hurt him, I swear it!"

The Queen held her calm, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach.

Avo, it was just another day in Albion.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

**That day had started out typically enough.** A long night of hopping around in makeshift fighting ring in the basement of the Riveter's Rest. The stench of sweat and booze heavy in the air with the patrons screaming and roaring for the fighter whom they had placed their bets on. A masked fighter with a braid dodged a hairy thug's blow and met it with an uppercut. That had been 4;37am in Bowerstone Industrial.

At 4:58am, the masked fighter's fist was raised by the fight club's head—Andrea Nightingale, as she was infamously known. Nightingale was a powerfully built woman, with stocky arms and a tall frame. Her voice roared over the crowd as she announced the reigning champion who went by, "Chicken Chaser." She deposited a leathery bag full of the prize winnings in the victor's hand. It was pushed it back into Nightingale's grasp and the fighter's exposed mouth curled in a smirk. Nightingale understood.

At 5:29am, crossing through the alleys, shadowboxing and sporting a shiner and a bloody nose caked with coagulant, that braided woman threw her mask aside. Whatever feathers had once been on it were bent or torn off in the fights. As energetic as a child, the Queen of Albion ignored the cut above her eye in favor of the swing of her fists—left-hook, right jab, and a step as light as a bird's.

Adjacent to the bouncing, childish Queen, came Barry Hatch from a crate-lined alleyway. He'd emerged from the misty shadows with one hand pressed to his temple and a deep frown set into his face. While en route to his master's factory, he spotted the Queen. Damn it all to Skorm—what a person to run into at this time and place!

He slowed as his frown became something more uncertain. He buried his hands in his pockets and resumed his pace. In fact, he sped up, turning away as not to draw the daft woman's attention. To his luck, the Queen had been mostly oblivious to his presence.

He hurried down the street with only business in mind. The main Reaver Industries plant loomed up ahead in the heady clouds and scarlet, morning glow. The smoke rising from its chimneys and ventillation ducts took a pink hue in the cold sunrise. He watched it all with a sour expression as he pushed open the gates and hurried within the safety of the grounds.

The Queen caught the shadow from the corner of her eye, recognizing a unique haircut and familiar, gingery hair. A rush of blood to her aching nose spilled a coppery taste over her lips and she wiped it on the back of her wrist like a snot-nosed child. That man, she mused, that butler who always followed Reaver to the castle and helped him make those often-ridiculous proposals!

With his coat tails fluttering behind him, the owner of the said factories, proposals, and ginger butler crossed beside the Queen like a shadow. She'd nearly jumped out of her skin as the tall and graceful man passed her. As elegant and handsome as ever, the great businessman of Albion turned to her with a tired smile and the slight air of a hangover.

"Your Majesty! You are here early."

When met with Reaver's regard, the Queen stammered, "Er, business? Heh, why yes, yes I am."

That had been a lie, evident enough to both of them. But neither cared to question it.

Reaver blinked and placed a hand in his pocket. There was something absent about him—his cane, it seemed. That fancy, ebony and gold relic he'd always carried with him. It was actually strange to see him without it.

"I was not expecting anyone here. What business do you have with me so early in the morning?"

The sound of Reaver's silken voice had been welcome to Barry's ears. He'd nearly stepped out beyond the stone and iron gates before he realized his master was speaking with that daft Queen. Barry mumbled a curse and stepped a little further back into the shadows, eyes following the two warily.

"Just passing through the area and…well, I thought I'd pay this old place a visit. Quite a lot of memories here. Coming across you shooting those feisty little worker bees of yours, inciting 'Reaver Team Spirit' and what not…"

"Ah, yes, I recall it! I did not see you hiding off to the side." Reaver chuckled and nodded. He shook his head as if it were some funny little memory, "I should have known you were there. This is one of the last factories I have open now, you know. Had to open elsewhere. Come, would you like me to show you around this fine establishment?"

The Queen nodded with all the excitement of her heart skipping a beat clear on her features, "Y-yes, of course!"

"Come, come! We have much to see before those mangy workers come filing in." Devilish and full of grace, the fair businessman turned on his heel. He lead the way through the factory's massive double doors with the same sense of importance he was infamous for. The dull ache of a night spent partying too hard would never stop his regal demeanor.

The Queen followed close behind, uncertain as to whether she was more excited to bump into that curious ginger butler or walk alongside Reaver—not that she'd ever let the latter catch on to this notion.

"So tell me, what exactly is this factory producing now? Last I recall, it was a meat-packing plant. Smells much less dead these days." The Queen asked. It was hardly her job to do routine inspections—no, she'd cracked down on Reaver's practices, but she'd always hoped that she'd never have to step into one of those dirty places again. But it seemed regulations went a long way.

"Mastah, suh? Weavah…?"

Reaver and the Queen stopped when the fiery-haired butler jogged up behind them. Reaver managed a smile, "Ah, Barry! Is this where you wandered off to? I was just going to show the Queen around. Join us and help make her feel comfortable. Or do you need something?"

Need something indeed, the Queen had thought, heat rising under her cheeks. She wiped her nose on her sleeve like an oblivious child and sniffled loudly. She cringed when she tasted blood on the back of her tongue and muttered, "Egh, shouldn't have done that…"

She wiped more blood away and grew increasingly red-faced, almost hiding her face behind her sleeve, "E-er, the coagulant potions should stop the bleeding."

Barry mumbled something inarticulate and regarded his master first, "Fwaid I got some news fwom the hewald this mownin', actually. Apawently, some woman tuwned up mauled on the banks this mownin' …bit of a panic goin' on down in Millfields. Figuwed I'd stop by and wa'wn you."

He gave the Queen a half-bow and smiled despite the sleeplessness in his own eyes, "Mownin', You'we Majesty. Pwetty as eva', I see."

Arm still hiding her face, the Queen replied, "S-same to you."

Right eye blue, left eye brown, she noticed. The butler had different colored eyes. That was peculiar. She'd never quite noticed that before… or had she just forgotten? It was rare she ever lent the troll much thought until recently.

"Mauled woman, you say?" The heavy steps of boots on wood heralded Page's arrival. The Queen looked over at the revolutionary who stepped in through the open doors, her walk characterized by a sway of the hips. Page had a way of appearing out of nowhere like that… there really never was any telling how long she'd just waited and listened. Or who she had been tracking. Reaver, perhaps, considering their long-standing distaste for one another.

"Now, why am I not suprised to hear this?" Page said, hands on her hips.

Barry had started at the woman's arrival. The sudden nervousness became evident on his features as he pressed a bit closer to his master and managed a thin smile, "Bweaking news, I'm afwaid."

"Well. Barry, get something together for the Queen to clean herself up with, hm? After, I may decide to stay in a different home for a bit. I don't much want those pig-haired neighbors asking me to defend them any." Reaver drawled, before giving Page a coy grin and half-bow, "Where ever did you come from? Most are asleep at this hour."

"Justice never sleeps," Page answered, having none of Reaver's tone.

"I'll fetch he'w Majesty a cloth." Barry muttered, disappearing quickly.

Reaver yawned lazily into a gloved hand and waved away the small gathering. He took to the stairs and climbed up to his private office, "As much as I would love to stay and chat, I have much paperwork awaiting me and not the head for jabber."

The Queen thanked Barry when he returned quickly with a clean piece of linen and a grin on his face.

Haflway up the steps he gave a bow once more and one of his winning smiles, "Your Majesty, I bid you well."

He headed further up the stairs as Barry caught up to him, hands folded behind his back. The two men looked down at the Queen and the rebel, and Reaver added, "If any pressing matters come, please feel free to see me, but otherwise, have a good day!"

Barry scowled and then shook his head. He offered a slight bow to the Queen and the rebel woman before following his master.

"How dull of you, Reaver. I would say you can sleep when you're dead, but," Page said, before turning to the Queen, "I would be cautious of that cloth, Your Majesty—"

She'd been a bit too late in that. With the cloth pressed to her nose, the Queen slunk to the floor and Page knelt down, not taking this prank with an ounce of humor. She cursed and dug through her pouches for smelling salts and growled, "I believe it is time for the Queen and I to be on our way, before you two kill or rape her."

Reaver bent over the rail and rolled his eyes, "I do not stoop to such levels. I prefer my partners willing and enjoyable. Now good day. I have had a long night and have a long day ahead of me."

He stormed into his office in an irate huff and followed. He flopped into his seat behind the desk and turned his back to the door, memories of the night before a vague, drunken haze.

"My Queen!" Page said, giving the Queen a shake, "If only we could just lock him in that office."

The Queen stirred with a groan and a wince, "Ba… huh? Where am I? Bloody hell, my nose is bleeding…"

In her groggy haze, she reached out for the first cloth she saw before Page panicked and grabbed her wrist, "No! Your Majesty, that is the same cloth!"

"Oh, oh my, ugh!" The Queen tossed it away and snapped her hand back with a grimace, "Eh… well, alright then. Perhaps we should best be on our way and investigate this mauling in Millfields."

As she climbed to her feet and balanced herself against Page, she shook her head and frowned, "Why would someone give me a poisoned cloth?"

"My Queen, the answer is unconscious sex." Page answered, as-a-matter-of-factly.

"You don't say." The Queen sighed, wincing from the sunlight that poured in through the factory's high windows. She shrugged, "At least the sun's risen, now. Shall we, my dear?"

"But of course. It would be wise for us to investigate. No time to waste. What do you suggest we search first?"

The Queen thought for a moment, regaining her balance and answering, "I'll contact the area's guards. They'll know where the body is."

"I think it would be wise of us to investigate the town's pub. Surely someone has some information."

"Indeed." The Queen answered, stepping out into the factory's vast lawn, "I could use a quick drink."

"Not too many, My Queen. I do swear you are a lightweight." Page teased with a bat of long black lashes that shadowed clear blue eyes.

The Queen smirked and replied, "Well, then, before you start counting, let me buy you one."

"Well, my Queen!" Page laughed, "I would be honored. I like my drinks hard, as you would know."

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

"Fowgive me, suh, but… this mownin'… the woman… I think, I… balverine," Barry had stammered, pawing at the back of his neck. Reaver turned in his seat and looked his servant over with a raised brow. Finally, he rolled his eyes and stood. A yelp escaped Barry when Reaver suddenly grabbed him by the collar.

"You are joking, right? You realize that you are one…of those disgusting things now, but can you not control yourself?" Reaver hissed, tugging the man a good foot off of the ground. He half threw him and stalked back to his chair. It was a side of flustered annoyance that few ever saw. As he regathered his composure, he said, "Fine. I do not need any more of the Queen and that rebel's people on me. I will steer them off of you this time, Hatch, but do not allow it again!"

Barry groaned and rubbed at the back of his neck, almost neurotically, "I dunno, suh, weally, I-I don't wememba' anything… at all. Just know I woke up in the gwounds, naked and kind'a bloody. I mean, I could'a killed a dea'w o'w a bunny, o'w someth…ing like that…"

Reaver nodded and rolled his eyes some more. He sat back with a pen in his hands, letting it play across his fingertips.

"If not you, then what?" The businessman asked, peering up at the servant with cold eyes, "Mauled, you said, yes? What on earth could have mauled her? Nothing in these areas mauls anymore! In any case, a cover up is in order. One body won't send much of a spark, but if it happens much more, you can bet there will be a stir."

"And it'd be my neck on the line, wight?" Barry said, coarsely.

Pondering, Reaver shook his head and answered, "The forest off to the side of the lake. Behind some homes… that is where I acquired the balverines that bit you last year. So they would likely search there first. For now, Barry, you have gotten lucky."

Barry scrubbed a hand over his face and shrugged, "Mastah Weavah, suh, not that I lend much cawe to the thought, but, what if the webel and he'w Majesty come pwying?"

Reaver rubbed his head. Now was hardly the time for anxious dabbling in worst-case scenarios—that much was evident from his bloodshot eyes and the pain in his throbbing head, "Then I will send them away. There is nothing for them here. You have an alibi I can give… and I am not one to discuss my private life with the likes of them. They know this."

With a firm palm slapped to the desk, Reaver ended it, "Now enough of this talk. The more you speak of it, the more in your mind it is. Forget it happened. Fetch me something to drink to quell this headache."

"I'll be off to the pub, then." Barry answered—hair of the dog that bit you, as it were—"Weckon' I'll be about ten minutes, Mastah Weavah."

He offered a quck bow and hurried out. Reaver waved a hand and bent over his paperwork with a groan. The one downside to all of his power and money was that damned paperwork.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

The Riveter's Rest was bustling. A few leftovers from the late night brawls remained to drink away their hangovers. Many others were sailors and industrial workers getting a quick pint of mead and an easy breakfast before heading out on their day.

Few of them had any information worthwhile. Though a good deal of them had already gotten word of the mauling. For a moment, the two had thought they were on to something when a man began to ramble about his daughter loafing about in Millfields. But then the barmaid arrived, slammed a mug down before him and barked, "Oy! I'm right here, dad!"

Sitting with a mug of ale in hand, Page sighed, "Perhaps the balverines have returned to Millfields?"

"It's very possible," The Queen said tentatively, "But I was so sure we culled the lot of them out. Pushed them back into Silverpines."

She swirled her drink before a large hand slapped down on her shoulder and a jovial voice broke the serious air.

"Long time no see, dears! Next round's on me!"

Sir Walter Beck, with his salt-and-pepper beard and great, rosy smile had a way of lighting up the room. It had been a nightmare to nearly lose him a year ago, in the fierce war that defined the current peacetime. But there he was—indestructable and with a mug of ale in hand.

"Sir Walter! Fancy meeting you here!" The Queen grinned.

"It's been a while. Where have you been?" Page smiled.

Walter chuckled, "At the other pub. But I'm here now!"

A jingle near the door caught the Queen's attention for a split-second. But soon enough, she was back on Page and Walter, completely unaware of the ginger butler who had sulked into the pub and took a seat in a corner.

"All has been well since the war, Majesty. What a lively bunch we have here today!" Walter said.

"Walter, there has been word among the people of a mauling in Millfields," The Queen said, sobering up the mood. Page chimed in as Walter's face darkened, "Have you heard anything about this among the guards?"

"Not much, Page. I've heard little through the drunken grapevine. Just that some rich folk in Millfields met a messy end this morning. We are awfully close to Silverpines, though. Anyone reckon the balverines may be returning?"

Page sipped her drink and mused aloud, "I still think it's a little odd. How did they get out to Millfields so easily? Through the guards and the hunters?"

Unnoticed by all of the Queen, the rebel, and the jovial knight, Barry glanced over from his table in the corner. A waitress came to take his order and as he made his request, he kept a sharp eye and a sharper ear out for whatever the investigating trio said.

"Well, then, Sir Walter, care to join Page and I on an investigation in Millfields?" The Queen asked with a lighthearted tone. It'd been too long since they all had a decent adventure together.

"Of course! Ladies first! Err, let me finish my ale real quick…" Walter chugged down his drink and hurried after the women as they exited the pub.

Barry took his drink—Reaver's favorite cure to the common hang over—and hurried back to the factory. Just before exiting the tavern, a glimpse of a familiar, pale-blond head of curls caught his eye. But Barry disregarded the man with the printed paper in hand. It couldn't possibly be… no, of course not. The blond in question couldn't read, Barry recalled. When he reached Reaver's office, he shut the door behind him and set the healthy-sized mug down on Reaver's desk.

"They'we investigating, Suh."

Reaver looked up from his paperwork, irate, but grateful for the alcohol, "As they would… again. They will not suspect you. In fact, you are the last one they should suspect. They will think it was a wild one. You do not wish to return to Millfields alone, I assume? We may need to hire someone to follow them and make sure they stay clear of us."

* * *

><p><em>{ Find illustrations, character profiles, extras and more at the Fabled Albion page; fabledalbion .wordpress .com! }<em>


	2. The Ginger Balverine, pt II

A good portion of the day was spent questioning to locals and asking around about balverine sightings. After all, if they could maul a woman in Millfields, who was to say they couldn't creep just a little closer to Bowerstone? By the time the trio reached the hills overlooking the great Bower Lake, the sun was beginning to set and the same scarlet wash as the morning had returned. As did the chilly breeze.

"It's a cold evening in Millfields," Walter murmured, keeping a steady pace behind them, hand ever close to the hilt of his blade, "Anyone else feel strangely irked?"

"It is a bit unnerving, yes. Chillier than usual." The Queen answered.

"I'm starting to think this was a bad idea," Page confessed as they climbed down the path.

Walter shrugged and reassured her, "Don't get too worked up, yet. All seems calm so far."

Page looked up ahead in the direction the Queen had suddenly taken to staring, "Who is that up there?"

"Er, it's…" The Queen began.

Barry had heard these voices on his way back to Reaver's manor. Skorm damn it all, it was that trio of idiots again. He'd had a headache of his own—perhaps more from his forgotten night than the party Reaver had held. He pressed fingers against his temple and muttered a curse, turning away from the three. Perhaps they wouldn't see him? He trudged along bitterly until the old knight's voice called out over the hills. He didn't stop. Barry just walked faster and lowered his head, as though it would help—it was not as though the bright ginger hair and the uniform were dead giveaways.

"Hey, you up there!"

The Queen sighed and quickly said, "W-w-wait, is it necessary that we… again… I… alright. Let's do this."

She made a stern poker face and followed after Walter and Page.

"Better not to hide! My Queen, you must be brave!" Page said.

Barry ran. He cursed and he ran. It was an awkward run, with the trio hauling tail after him, perhaps looking just as awkward from the distance.

"Balls, he's running! Is that suspicious to anyone else, or is that just me!" Walter panted as he ran.

"Suspicious indeed! I believe he looked familiar, didn't he, my Queen?" Avo, Page had to be teasing at this point! The Queen's poker face reddened as she nodded and jogged after, "Yes, yes he did."

Barry passed the massive marble statue of Reaver that guarded the mansion like a tophat-toting sentinel. He bent over to gasp for precious air before diving into the mansion and bolting the door behind him. The butler collapsed onto a couch and groaned, "Blimey…"

The trio stopped before Reaver's lavish mansion. The light refracted off the lake's rippling surface and gave the windows a soft glow. It was a beautiful home, fit for none other than a king—or Reaver.

"Old Barry Hatch. Might as well investigate… you know Reaver and his dealings." Walter muttered, catching his breath and then climbing the steps.

The Queen and Page's last visit to Reaver's mansion had hardly been one worth speaking of. It had been utter chaos.

"Reaver's mansion, again?" The Queen groaned.

"Sadly, yes. We must." Page answered.

"Well, hello there, ladies and… well, Walter!" A welcome voice rang out from a high hill nearby. The three were met with the welcome sight of Benjamin Finn—adventurer, crack shot and lady-killer extraordinaire. As he hopped down from the mossy ledge, Walter greeted him as any old friend would.

"Ben! Come to join us for a spot of adventure, have you?" Walter gave the shorter man a firm and chummy slap on the back.

"I do hope it's not another one of Benjamina's shenanigans. Jasper told me the lot of you had run off to Millfields. I couldn't resist." Ben answered—oh, lovely Benjamina and the last quest she'd sent them on… that did cost Reaver a hat and, for everyone involved, a little dignity.

Barry had just caught his breath when he heard the jiggle of the doorknob. He lifted his head and glanced over, "Fowget you'we key again, Weavah?"

He staggered to his feet and crossed to the door. He unlocked it and drew back slightly, "Who—!"

With a very straight poker face chiseled into her features, the Queen stood before him, "HELLO."

"Ah, well, if it isn't Reaver's uh… butler?" Walter peered in.

"Barry! We have some questions for you." Page said.

The fourth member of their troupe—a blond man with a shotgun and thick sideburns gave him an acknowledging nod.

Barry slammed the door shut in the Queen's face.

"Well, he isn't the most welcoming of fellows, is he?" Ben shrugged.

Page began to pound on the door, "HATCH! DON'T YOU IGNORE US! Ben, make him let us in!"

Ben only shrugged as Barry's voice came from behind the door, "Mastah Weavah ain't in! You'll just have to come back late'w!"

"We aren't here to see Reaver!" Page growled, "We're here for you, Hatch!"

"Bawwy ain't in eith'a!"

"Better open it up, Reaver or not, we're here on a mission. Apparently." Ben finally stepped in and added.

The Queen perked up after what seemed like an eternity of just staring at a slammed door and said, "W… we're here for Barry? I-I'm here for Barry. That's right. Let me get this door."

"Break it down! I'm tired of waiting!" Page said.

"It's all yours, Majesty. Show us some hero strength." Walter stepped aside.

Beyond the door, Barry yelped, "No!"

"Well, I won't break it, all it needs is a little shove," The Queen said, casting a wink Page's way, "Something of a love tap."

Page glanced at Ben and blushed, "Yes… love tap."

Barry pushed on the door with all his strength—which was, to say, not a lot. The Queen shoved on the door once, and then twice before it finally opened, sending the ginger butler flying backwards. He'd landed on his back, hand flying up to his head. He winced as he sat upright and watch the door slide open and the intruders enter.

"We want some answers, Hatch." Walter stepped in, "Why were you running away from us?"

Following in casually, the Queen took a deep breath, "You can do this, you can do this." After composing herself, she raised her head high and said, "Why, good evening, Barr—what are you doing on the floor?"

Page had all but burst into the mansion, shouting, "Damn it, Hatch, enough of your games!" The Queen had recoiled a little at that shouting.

Barry answered weakly, "Bet you wouldn't believe I thought you we'we balvewines, would you?"

"Nonsense," Ben said, rifle loaded and aimed, "We smell much nicer."

The Queen had a sudden, self-conscious moment of doubt. Did she smell like a balverine after being up all night in the ring? It hardly helped that Page shrugged and added, "Well, at least some of us do."

"Well, Darling," Ben shrugged, "It isn't my fault, I've been running around in the sewer all day."

"Us? Balverines?" Walter chuckled, "You're a bad liar, Hatch."

The Queen offered a hand to help Barry up and kept calm, "Come now, enough of this panicking."

"I say we tie him down." Page's voice came, hardly helping the situation, "Better yet, let's tie him to a chair or something."

Barry crawled backwards, away from the proffered hand and still stationed promptly on his rear, "Given light of the situation, uh, what can I do fo' you…?"

While it didn't help diplomacy one bit, the thought of Barry roped down to a chair had a peculiar effect on the Queen. One might even call it an irrational sort of effect. It caused her to pull her ignored hand away and grin, "THIS IS AN EXCELLENT IDEA, PAGE!"

Barry winced.

"Walter, get us a chair!" Page said—Walter was already on it, grabbing the nearest chair and digging a piece of rope from his pack, "Leave it to me, Ladies!"

Barry staggered and tried to make a run for the back door.

"Slippery bastard! After him!" Walter cried.

The Queen was startled out of her reverie and caught sight of him running. She lunged afer and tackled him, all while Ben fired a warning shot at the door—narrowly missing Barry and the Queen. She froze as the bullet whizzed past her hair, and straight-faced, she called out from over Barry, in a flat voice, "DO WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FIRING THAT THING, DEAR BEN. DEAR, DEAR, BEN."

"My apologies," Ben answered, "It's not like I was expecting you to dive for the man!"

Barry groaned into the floor, life almost taken in three instances within three seconds. Weakly, he pleaded, "Just kill me alweady…?"

"The Queen shook her head and grumbled, "Right, then, now don't struggle unless you want me to get rough with you, Barry. And let me warn you, I'm not a gentle lover. We have a few questions."

"We're not here to kill anyone. We just want some information." Walter said.

By this time, the sun had gone down completely, leaving the manor's parlor in veritable darkness. Looking over his shoulder, Ben chimed again, "Not to be a stick in the mud or anything, but aren't we forgetting something? Anyone know when Reaver's gettin' home?"

"Vewy soon!" Barry said quickly.

"Ben, seal the door." The Queen said.

"Sure, Queenie, but somehow, I doubt this'll hold him for long, should he decide to show up." Ben answered.

Page lit a nearby lamp and Walter tied Barry to a chair as the Queen held him steady.

"Maybe we should take him to the castle…" Walter said.

Barry whimpered as Page answered, "Either we get answers now or figure something else out. Knowing Reaver, they'll just disappear in the night."

"You ain't asked me anything!" Barry retorted.

"You know, now that he mentions it, I'm not even sure why we're here, either." Ben said.

Coquettishly, Page answered, "Ben, you just point that lovely gun of yours and look pretty for us."

"Gladly, love, but I do hope one of you fills me in at some point."

"What do you know about the murdered woman that washed up by the lake this morning?" Walter demanded.

Silence. Sweat trickling down the butler's rosy face. His breaths quaking and tentative. The Queen watched his every motion with a hawklike gaze, eyes particularly drawn to the ropes wrapped about his wrists and ankles. There was something all too lucid about that moment, with his hastened breaths and wide, mismatched eyes.

"Well, Hatch? Know anything about the balverine rumor?" Walter repeated, packing around the butler.

"I don't know a thing about the who-woman." Barry answered.

Barry's face seemed just a shade rosier than it usually did. A cold, sharp blade pricked against his throat, just beneath the Adam's apple and Barry shifted away.

"Is that so?" The Queen said, pressing just a little deeper, "I've been known to pick out a lie or two."

The room fell silent before the Queen finally spoke again, "You have gorgeous eyes."

That was when the doorknob wiggled and the intruders went into a panic—all save for the Queen, whose mind had actually crashed completely. Lost somewhere between a mismatched sapphire and amber and the arrival of a rich sociopath with a deadly gun and even deadlier aim.

"Your Majesty!" Walter breathed.

"Mastah Weavah!"

The door burst open and in came Reaver with his gun cocked and aimed, "Oh, this is exactly what I love to come home to! A gaggle of annoyances who have trespassed and tied my servant down!"

Ben was at gunpoint in the blink of an eye, and Page retaliated by taking ferocious aim at the businessman.

"I will kill you if you hurt him, I swear it!" Page growled over Ben's muttered griping at his position. The Queen felt everything sinking around her and she shut her eyes and took a breath.

Diplomacy. That's what she was good at, right?

"At ease, soldiers," The Queen said, "…perhaps we can work this all out."

"Kill 'em all, Weavah, suh!" Barry called out. The Queen winced. That did not help.

"Now, everyone calm down, Reaver, we just wanted to know about what's happening here in Millfields. And may I say, your man servant here has been acting quite suspicious." Walter said.

Inarticulately, Barry grumbled, "Bloody bastawds…"

Reaver groaned and rolled his eyes, "Really, pretty, I have no care as to who I put a hole in the head of, so as long as you leave. As I know, I have the right to have you removed from my grounds. Isn't that right, Your Majesty? Or do you wish to disregard laws and anger your people as your brother did? Do tell me, do you wish to run the route of Logan? For I can arrange this!"

"Why don't we… take this to another room, somewhere quieter, where we can talk through this misunderstanding," The Queen tried once more.

"Honestly, I would not be surprised if it was you!" Reaver snapped in Walter's direction, his tirade unending, "Where have you been? You were taken, no? By the Crawler?"

Waving the gun slightly, but never once giving Ben a chance to think of escape, Reaver continued, "For all we know it was you, Sir Walter. Now to go about such things, it is best to do so calmly, rather than by tying my servant to a bloody chair, now isn't it? Would you all just leave, now! Barry was with me all night. …We, eh, had a bit of fun."

Barry flushed and glanced away awkwardly. Ben made a wry face and half gagged, "That's already much more than I wanted to know."

"Don't make me use this!" Reaver hissed, finger massaging the trigger.

"Treason!" Page yelled, "Just try to shoot us! I would love to see you try!"

"As would I…" Barry muttered, darkly.

With one foot, the Queen kicked over Barry's chair, "Silence, Barry."

He hit the floor with a thud and a curse, face now resting against marble tiles, "Just my bloody luck…"

Reaver lowered his gun and thought once more. He feigned a false grin and said, "Forgive me for seeming brash, then. I have a headache and you are in my home."

"How can we trust his words anyway? For all we know, he could be the killer." Page's eyes were like icy blue slits.

Ben hurried away from Reaver, now that the gun had fallen. He huddled protectively beside Page and said, "I don't think so, love. If he wants to kill someone, he does it with that gun of his."

Reaver waved his gun in boredom, "As your love said, Page. I use my gun and above all, I do not hide. Barry was with me. Now leave."

"You tell 'em, Weavah!"

"Barry, shut up." Reaver sneered.

Walter joined Ben and Page, never once taking his eyes off of Reaver, "I would like to get the bloody hell out of this creepy dungeon."

"This is just giving him time to hide evidence." Page said.

"Mastah Weavah… Suh?"

"What evidence!" Reaver exclaimed.

Barry, still face down on the floor, groaned a tad louder, "Suh!"

"Reaver, you wouldn't care to share a few words with your Queen in private, would you?" The Queen said, tone cross, "I assure you, I am a wonderful diplomat."

"Your Majesty, I really do not have the time! Honestly, at this rate, I might just—"

That was when Reaver's face seemed to light up. As did Barry's eyes, becoming two glowing, gold orbs as he writhed against the floor. Reaver groaned, rubbed his temples, and then stepped away from the door, gesturing for everyone to leave as he quickly marched toward Barry, "One moment, darlings!"

"What the…" Page's jaw dropped when she caught that glimmer of light in the servant's eyes.

Reaver rushed over to Barry, grabbed him by the chair he was tied to and threw him into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind him. He turned to face the trespassers with another handsome, if not, strained smile and then drew his gun once more.

"ALL OF YOU! OUT!"

Barry hit the floor in the kitchen with an audible thump and grunt. The cracks around the door began to light up and the sound of thrashing and dishes crashing against walls was heard as Reaver held back the door. He fired a warning shot that whizzed by the whiskers on Walter's face.

"Next time, I will not miss. OUT!"

The door began to quake as Reaver planted his heels into the ground and cursed. Scratching was heard from the other side. Finally, Reaver sidestepped the door and yelled, "Blast! Now! If you wish to leave, DO SO BEFORE HE EATS YOU!"

In a burst of splinters and wood, an orange-haired balverine broke through the door.

As the group moved to leave, Reaver chuckled and shook his head. Gun still drawn, he headed up the stairs, "I usually have him locked up during this, but you all… kept me occupied."

"Balls!" Walter cried, strutting for the door, "Let's get out of this hell hole!"

"Is that a ginger balver…" The distracted Queen murmured as Ben took Page's hand and chased after Walter. Before she could react she was tackled to the floor and pinned by the balverine.

"Barry! No!" Reaver commanded.

Walter drew his sword and turned back to the Queen, "Your Majesty!"

The Queen looked up in a mix of terror and flustered confusion as the massive beast loomed over her. It's maw parted, revealing rows of long, moist teeth. A massive, heavy tongue rolled out and dropped beside her as she shuddered, "E-erm… nice… balverine…"

Reaver neared cautiously, "Walter, no, he is not going to eat her. BARRY! DO NOT BITE."

The Queen giggled as the balverine's tongue grazed across a ticklish part of her neck. She lay there beneath it, a star struck look in her eyes as the balverine lifted its head and pinned Walter with a glare. Then, its eyes turned upon Reaver and a growl clawed its way out of his throat, hackles rising.

Rubbing his temples, Reaver walked over and sat on his love seat, waving a hand at the red balverine, "If you bite, I will shoot, Barry."

"What… is… happening?" Walter looked at Ben and Page.

Twitching slightly, the balverine fixed Reaver with a glare, optics burning. His body lowered, pressing closer to his meal, the Queen, jaws snapping in warning.

"I'm just as clueless as you, Walter." Ben said, bewildered.

Scratching behind the beast's ear, the Queen wondered if there was a sweet spot to "disable" the beast. Perhaps not the smartest move she'd ever made.

"I cannot watch!" Page buried her face in Ben's chest.

Seeing the warning signs, Reaver stood, "Walter, be a dear and grab Queenie when she is clear. And get the hell out of my house."

He stepped over to Barry quickly, moving without much care, booted foot coming up to meet his side. Yelping, the balverine flew sideways and skid across the polished tiles. He hit a wall, slumped, and then staggered up. With a snarl, he turned on his heels and darted from the house, nearly knocking the doors off their hinges.

"Come now, Majesty!" Walter cried, taking the Queen's hand.

Following Walter limply, the Queen muttered to herself, "B… Barry licked me…"

A howl rang out in the distance as Reaver stepped into his ruined kitchen. A soft groan escaped him as he pulled down a glass and a bottle of wine. He filled it and sipped, muttering, "…hair of the dog that bit you."

As Walter, Page, Ben, and the Queen ran across a starlit Millfields, another howl rang out in the distance. The Queen kept a hand on the cheek Barry had licked, Walter was as lost as ever, and Page ran with Ben's hand clasped tightly in her own.

"…and you all think I get into too much trouble on a daily basis!" Ben said.

* * *

><p><em>{ Find illustrations, character profiles, extras and more at the Fabled Albion page; fabledalbion .wordpress .com! }<em>


	3. Return to the 'Haus of Reaver'

He blinked away. A stream of sunlight warmed his skin, and with a groan, Barry Hatch collapsed back on the ground. A few minutes later and he managed to lift his head and glance around.

The first slightly troubling sight (aside from being naked) was that his entire being was covered in blood; the second was that he tasted it as well. Licking at his teeth, he pulled a face, and then dragged himself to his feet. His entire body was sore, and the trek home seemed to take a lifetime. But when at last he came around to the servant's quarters, he forced open the door to his tiny room, and without bothering to clean himself, he flopped down upon his cot, his eyes slowly shutting, and body drifting towards sleep.

Reaver, meanwhile, had curled himself up in his plush bed once his workers installed new doors. Stripped down to his skivvies and buried in fluff, he had not planned on having much sleep. It seemed to be only a few hours before the sun peeked in through his window and he met it with a groan.

The soft sound of a first-floor door opening met his ears and he forced himself fully awake. At least he hadn't had a nightmare.

Reaver pulled himself from his bed, not bothering with clothing and left his room. Reaver descended the steps to the servant's wing, his face a placid boredom and annoyance. He arrived at Barry's door and pushed it open, intent on beating the man senseless, until he saw him. For several long moments, Reaver paused at the sight of the bloody servant.

With an exasperated sigh, Reaver closed the curtains and shut the door, leaving Barry locked inside.

"You deserve a bit of sleep, but honestly… you have gotten us in too much trouble, Barry." Reaver said.

Alone, Barry rose and checked the door. He found it locked and gave a frustrated sigh. He stepped back and fisted his hair and then collapsed back on the bed in defeat.

"Rest up, Barry! For once you are well-rested and cleaned up, you will need to deliver invitations for the party tonight!" Reaver called back to the door with a roll of the eyes. He laughed lightly and then headed up the stairs to dress and prepare as the servants dressed the manor in lavish décor. For that afternoon, Reaver locked himself away in his study, writing out the invites.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

_**{**_If asked about Albion's Royal Family, _**The Manifesto of Fabled Albion, **_his this to say regarding the country's beloved royals…_**}**_

"In the world of _Fabled Albion_, the Hero of Bowerstone, later to be known as Queen Sparrow, was blessed with four perfectly abominable little bundles of failure. The first, born in the wonderful old year of 1723, on the twenty-third day of November, was the colicky, round baby Logan. The second, in 1725, perhaps drunken in utero and born with pure absinthe for blood, would be known as the terror of Sparrow's young flock, Dorian.

Between 1725 and 1731, unbeknownst to the unwary and often unbathed citizens of the unusually peaceful Bowerstone, the Queen had a secret love affair with her most trusted knight, Sir Walter Beck and their relationship would produce, on the blessed twelfth day of July, in Avo's holy year of 1729, a young boy whom Walter would aptly name Crow. The pregnancy was kept as secret as possible and when the child was born, the attendants of Bowerstone Castle would speak little more of the illegitimate son and shiver at the thought of even gossiping about the good Queen's brief infidelity. Crow Beck would be raised by Sir Walter, unaware of his royal blood and siblings until eventful spring of 1750, which brings us to the last child of the Hero Queen.

On the twenty-third day of July in the year 1731, the Hero Queen had her final child, a girl who would be known as the Princess of Albion. The rambunctious Princess never quite grew into a graceful hero or an elegant lady like her mother, instead, winding up spending many afternoons practicing the Gaullian art of parkour and faceplanting off of the Royal Foyer's second-level balconies.

Despite a few secrets here and there, the Royal Family was a peaceful brood until the untimely passing of the Hero Queen in 1742, leaving her empty—and quite noticeably pink—throne to her son of eighteen years, Logan. If it had not been quirky enough that by Hero's blood, the eighty-year-old Queen had only the body of a forty-year-old woman, it was regarded as slightly quirkier that Logan redecorated the very pink castle to the far more masculine shade of violet.

Rational minds would refer to Logan's choice in decor as a tribute to his mother's beloved pink, but in a darkened shade of mourning. Little did they know, the young man simply just enjoyed the color violet. In 1749, the ever-drunken Prince Dorian would eventually run away from Bowerstone Castle, inexplicably.

In late spring of 1750, the young Princess would then run away with Walter and Jasper to begin a revolution against her increasingly tyrannical brother, King Logan, and for the first time, meet Walter's son, Crow Beck—her adventurous brother, who had a rare trait of Hero blood: the gift of foresight.

After eventually joining up with their elder brother, the rebel Prince Dorian, the ragtag trio of siblings would lead the revolution against King Logan that would go down in history. Until no more than a few months later, the newly-coronated King Dorian would go down in history as the worst King ever to rule Albion, drain the kingdom's treasury, turn the orphanages into brothels, gain the nickname "the King of the Whores," and make off with the near-century-old crown and leave the wreckage (and a replica crown) of the kingdom to his younger sister.

The new Queen was quite the opposite of her whimsical, self-serving brother Dorian… but she was still, quite possibly, the next worst ruler in a long line of poorly suited rulers to the unfortunate nation. When the war with the Crawler arrived, only 1/3 of Albion's population survived, despite her best efforts to strengthen the army and repair the damage left by Dorian. This massive failure on her part earned her the nickname, _the Fail Queen of Albion_."

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

The Queen awoke in her chambers after a long night. A _very_ long night. She rose and got dressed.

"My goodness… well, that was an investigation gone terribly wrong. Although I can't say it was a total failure."

She placed a hand to her cheek where Barry had licked her and smiled warmly.

"…Perhaps I am not entirely the fail Queen of Albion."

An invitation had arrived by courier early in the afternoon, reading, "You awe co'wdially invited to Weavah's home tonight fo'w what is suwe to be the pawty of the yea'w! Come one, come all (Unless you'we name is Benjamina)!"

A party it was, then? But why would Reaver throw a party? She shoved the disbelief aside and decided to further the investigation subtly, during the party.

As evening fell, she carefully went through her wardrobe for an adequate ensemble to wear. A servant nearby jokingly asked, "Planning to look good for Reaver, are ya?"

To which the Queen replied with an irate, deadpan voice, _"Yes. I am planning to look good for Reaver."_

She picked an outfit and made her way to Millfields, mulling over the suspicions surrounding Reaver and the mauled woman in Millfields and trying to keep her thoughts on _only_ that…

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

And then, far across Albion, the couriers brought the very same invitation to another member of the royal family.

In the Sunset House, laying lazily on his bed, Dorian watched as his current royal wife—_Evelyn? Elisa? Her name started with a 'E', anyway_—shuffled through his clothes to find something suitable for him—_he's the King, he doesn't deal with clothes_—Dorian wondered how things were actually going in Millfields. Sure, bodies mauled by creatures—Balverines probably. _Whatever._ Anything interesting? Lately, it seemed things were just a bit dull. More than it used to be.

"Would you mind hurrying up or something, love? Being late doesn't bother me much but I'd rather arrive before the party ends, y'know."

Skorm blessed him being the 'worst king ever', and even his wife knew not to complain and to actually hurry up. He was finally properly clothed and on his way to Reaver's place half an hour later. _And being the king does permit you to jump in a carriage and insult the driver until he goes faster to your destination. And you can even bring the second wife—Amelia? Aurelia?—to entertain you while you travel!_

On the road to Reaver's mansion was a certain Knight of Albion who strolled reluctantly to the party. The Queen had taken off before Sir Walter Beck, dressed in a gorgeous gown. He was perplexed by her behavior the previous night, and he wanted some definite answers.

Walter muttered to himself as he walks down the streets of Millfields, "What a soddy mess that was last night. Hopefully there will be no debacles tonight…"

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

Barry was lounging by the entrance to the manor, arms crossed tightly over his chest, foot tapping. He mumbled a soft curse to himself. Generally he was patient, but tonight he wanted nothing to do with this—any of it. Especially not after the news from last night. Two bodies discovered in Silverpines, dead, mauled, paw prints in the mud.

"Ain't like I'm the only balvewine in the wowld…"

Reaver walked down his mansion's parlor steps and smiled as he eyed the lovely décor. He had rested well beforehand and looked not a drop tired. He wore a new hat, had a new silver cane, and his white suit was crisp and clean. He looked positively posh.

He moved down and over to the refreshments table and took himself a glass of Unicorn Wine. He would set this party right and make sure he and Barry were the very last suspects.

Barry skulked over to Reaver and paused a few feet away. He pulled a face as he eyed the assortment of goodies.

"With all due wespect, Mastah Weavah, suh…" Barry fiddled slightly with his ruff.

"D'you weally think inviting all the people you kicked out yesta'day is a good idea? Afta' the bodies this mowning, two mowe, by the way…"

Reaver took a sip of wine, and then smiled at Barry while swishing the red wine around in his crystal, "What you have to understand, Barry, is that if we show them that we have nothing to hide by bringing them over they will know it was not us. Understand? It's all part of the game, Barry. Just act your usual creepy… self and it will all be fine. Have you looked to see if any guests have arrived?"

Barry glanced back and gave a curt nod before shuffling over to the doors.

It was about that time, as unnoticed as she was uninvited, a certain miss Benjamina crept through Reaver's kitchens. She helped prepare the food and drinks, clad in the same white uniforms as the other chefs.

"I never knew this job could be such a pain in the ass," She grumbled, scrunching her nose, "The smell is atrocious in here and it's not coming from the food. Nnn…!"

As she crept around the bottles of wine, she reminded herself of one particular thing—her extravagant arrival into Reaver's party.

"I'm going to be a _star_ tonight!" Benjamina glowed.

And so, beyond the heavy doors of Reaver's mansion, was the Queen, doing her best not to go red in the face. With a hesitant breath, she brought a fist up to the door and knocked. Trying not to go scarlet was proving to be a challenge far greater than taking on a mob of hobbes.

_"Maybe it won't be so bad… maybe someone else will answer the door… maybe he won't be here. Maybe—"_ She mumbled.

Barry gripped the door handles and pulled them both open, lapsing into his speech without so much as glancing at the new arrival.

"Welcome to Mastah Weavah's home. I hope you find tonight enjoyable, and should have any needs ow wequiwements, don't hesitate—"

His eyes dropped to the Queen and he gave a slight start.

"Me…"

The Queen stared up at Barry nervously and swallowed—any words she had prepared for the situation had just drained from her mind and her heart fluttered.

"…h-hello."

She was frozen in place.

Letting the door go, he stepped aside and offered a slight bow.

"Majesty, it's an hono'a."

Making a passing motion with his hand, he nodded, eyes upon the floor.

"Like I said, if I can be of any assistance, just let me know. Oth'a than that, you'we fwee to woam the mansion as you please."

Meanwhile, Benjamina peeked out of the kitchens with a plate filled with appetizers. When no one was around she made way for the dining hall, placed the appetizers where they needed to be, and then fumbled back into the kitchens. She made an appropriate pelvic thrust to no one in particular, _"Nff, nff, who's awesome? I am, nff, nff!"_

Reaver pushed himself off the table and stepped forward into the parlor, making a sweeping motion with his hand at the refreshments and the dance area and the seating.

"Your Majesty! Welcome, welcome! Please make yourself at home! I wish to apologize for my actions yesterday. You see it had been a rather long night and I had too much to drink. I was not in the loveliest of moods."

He moved then and took a small sandwich from a plate of appetizers, "Please accept my humble hospitality as my apology."

The Queen stepped past Barry, only slowly taking her eyes off of him.

"Eh, yes, thank you, Barry."

As she made her way inside, she acknowledged Reaver with a tired sigh.

"Yesterday was something wasn't it, Reaver? But I suppose there were a few misunderstandings… after all, I'm sure Barry here isn't the only balverine in Albion… yet don't think that this gets you off the hook just yet."

Reaver nodded, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion.

"Yes, yes I am sure there are others and I do not expect to be left off!" Reaver said, "I just wanted to 'clear the air' if you would. I assure you none the less that Barry was with me the first night you lot found the body."

Benajmina sashayed out of the kitchens with a wig and chef's hat on and saw Reaver talking with a noble whore. She paused, catching her breath before saying, "H'orderves?"

"So tell me! What was the evidence you recovered?" Reaver continued, "Have you seen the body yet? Oh blast I do hope the Balverines are staying within the woods rather than leaching out into my lovely little area!"

He sipped his wine more and found a nice chair to sit in, motioning for the Queen to do the same, "Come sit! Have something to eat and drink, please! We talk of business later, yes?"

Another guest arrived at roughly that moment. Normally, Logan would do his level-best to avoid one of Reaver's infamous parties—in fact, he generally tried to keep his distance from Reaver himself at all times, unless he absolutely had to go near the man. Especially after what he'd heard about the mauling of that woman.

But he told himself that he had to stop skulking around in the castle all day and night, it wasn't getting him anywhere, and… well, this was a step in the right direction.

He supposed. Grudgingly.

So Logan made his way to Reaver's mansion (admittedly with some trepidation), intending to simply get the night over and done with as little hassle as possible.

Sir Walter Beck also approached the looming Reaver Mansion and hesitated before knocking. In all honesty he did not want to be here. Who knew that Barry Hatch was a balverine? Kept in Reaver's house like a pet? The whole situation was crazy! He did not want to end up dead and shredded like that poor noblewoman, but as the Queen's advisor, he had to keep some sort of tabs on all that's going awry in the kingdom. Walter took a deep breath and pounded on the door. To his surprise, the door was faintly ajar, he pushed it open and walked inside.

Glancing around the rapidly filling house, Barry shrugged off his lingering feeling of trepidation and retreated to the small alcove beside the steps. Dropping onto a couch, he eased, relaxing some. There wouldn't be much to do, considering Reaver had insisted on a sort of self-serve venue.

Barry reminded himself: All he would have to do was check on guests once in a while, and then the kitchens. It would be boring … unless he could score in on some sort of orgy. Which was at a lower possibility than usual, partially because this was an apology party, and because the guests were a tad more… noble than usual. Pity.

Logan had, at that moment, been slithering in through the open door. Logan cast one look at the gathered nobles and decided he'd rather not deal with them now. So he slipped off to the left instead, lifting a glass of wine from a table as he passed, and leaned his back against a tapestry-adorned wall to crowd-watch, sipping the wine as he did so. He recognized most of the faces around the room, but had no want to make petty small-talk with any of them – he was more than happy to remain unnoticed.

The Queen, meanwhile, was hesitant to take a seat beside Reaver,. She eyed Barry once again as he skulked off to the alcove.

"…Perhaps I should go talk to the balverine in question myself. My apologies for turning down your enticing offer, Reaver."

She turned from Reaver and made her way toward Barry, thinking, _"Remember, this is strictly official business… nothing more!"_

As Walter entered the party, he was met with a cheerful and jovial atmosphere. Rich nobles mingling over snacks and drinks. He looked around the room to try and spot the Queen. He saw her standing with that creepy Barry, and made his way over there…

"Your Majesty…er… Mr. Hatch. Good evening." Walter greeted.

Barry stared between the two, his brows tweaked down in a frown, and he forced himself to his feet. Thickly, he murmured, "Can I off'a eith'a of you anything..?"

The Queen eyed Walter for a moment and then back to Barry.

Lounging comfortably, Reaver sipped his drink, eating the finger sandwich and talked with a rather scantily dressed noble woman. As Benjamina approached, he glanced up at the unfamiliar servant girl without much thought and took one of the sweets offered, "Thank you, my sweet."

Blushing, Benjamina shrieked in her mind, _"HE TOOK MY FOOD. AHHHH!"_

Making her way to the Queen, Benjamina asked, "Ma'am? Would you like one?"

Accepting a glass from a very eager lady servant, the Queen recognized her slightly but pushed the thought aside, "Er, there were a few questions we had about the, ah, balverine incident the other night. Such as where you were and what you were doing, of course."

Benjamina quietly bowed and sashayed away into the horrid-smelling kitchen, _"Dear Avo, what died in here?"_

Muttering, the Queen added, "No other questions… none at all."

Thickly Barry said to the Queen, "I'd tell you if I could wememb'a."

"You mean you don't recall what happens when you become a balverine…" The Queen asked.

"Your majesty… Do you think it's wise to have him here… in this room full of people? I hope you didn't forget what happened last night." Walter murmured to the Queen.

Shaking his head slowly, Barry answered, "No, ma'am."

Turning to Walter, a tad bit miffed, "I know at least when to leave, Mastah Beck."

Unconsciously, the Queen brought a hand to her cheek and eyed the ground, "Nothing at all…?"

"Do you know what triggers the transformation?" The Queen said.

Outside the mansion, Dorian's carriage eventually stopped without any discretion, horses neighing like hellish beasts. The King nonchalantly jumped down, closed the door on Amelia—_yup, finally, she's Amelia_—who naively thought she was coming to the party and made his way to the door of the mansion, left ajar.

"Good evening everyone~!" Dorian said.

Reaver stood and smiled as the former king entered and he bowed rather languidly.

"Dorian! I have yet to see you in so long! Tell me is the brothel brining in as much revenue as I had perceived?" Reaver smiled and moved away, motioning the former King to follow, "The Queen and her little toy are questioning my servant about the bodies, honestly I don't see why they think he did it!"

Back in the alcove, Barry shrugged and answered, "The night, ang'a, I don't know.."

The butler eyed the Queen slowly, then shrugged and headed for the library close by, the only empty room in the house. Entering, he shut the door behind himself and fell onto his back on a padded couch, an arm coming to hang over his eyes.

A few minutes passed, and bound to duty, Barry climbed to his feet and headed back out into the masses. Walking over to Reaver, he bent beside the man and murmured, "They'we being nosey, Mastah Weavah.."

Reaver nodded to Barry and took his arm, pulling him to the side, "Stay within my sight then, Barry."

In a whisper, Reaver hissed, "Entertain with me if you must."

Barry shivered at the feeling of the man's breath on his neck, but nodded nonetheless, taking a dutiful spot behind his Master; silent. It worsened, however, when he felt the man's teeth graze across his throat. His legs like jelly, he staggered away. Coming up to the band, he murmured something into the lead's ear, and then booked over to the kitchens, ordering the rest of the wine out. The cooks laid the tables with ales, sherry, bourbon and all manner of alcohols before retreating. At the same moment, the band switched over to a slower song, the notes drawn, thick, and seeming to positively dip ambrosia.

The lights dimmed, and after a few more moments of frantic dodging this way and that, he dropped down upon a cot, gasping for breath. _Mental note about exercise #2 … do more of it._

Walter spoke quietly in the alcove with the Queen, "It's a bad idea to have him here, he doesn't even know what triggers the transformation!"

"You're right… but what do we do? Tie him up and perform experiments on him?" The Queen asked.

"Maybe we should clear out all the guests… we don't want anyone else getting killed." Walter suggested.

The Queen made a groan and replied, "But what could scare all the guests out besides a massive explosion of some sort?"

"Actually I was thinking of something more subtle…" Walter shrugged.

As the lights dimmed and the music softened, the Queen spotted Barry weaving about the room. She followed, careful to steer clear of the clamor. After all, she had meant to have at least one private chat with Barry at some point that evening. The closer she got to him, however, the less coherent her mind became; she wanted to ask him about the balverines, the maulings, the triggers…

"…Barry?" The Queen approached the butler.

At that moment, Benjamina had finally skittered off into the kitchens, but not before turning around once more and giving Logan another smack to the buttocks.

Reaver smiled as he watched Barry dash off to do his dirty work. He picked up some strong drinks and stepped over to Logan, handing him a drink.

"I figured a drink was in order!" Reaver grinned.

He sidestepped up to Logan and smiling, lips inches from the royal's ear, "Are you so shy, Your Majesty? I never pictured this from you!"

Reaver leaned on the wall, watching Logan with a perfectly shaped, raised brow and he sipped his drink.

Logan might have audibly yelped in surprised as the serving-girl struck him on the rear with the broom. Fortunately for her, however, his mind was still distracted—by the time he fully registered what had happened she was already trotting away and all he can do was shoot a death-glare at her retreating back. _Even if she was really rather pretty…wait, what? No. More important things were happening at the moment. We'll have none of that, thank you. Behave yourself._

And then, Reaver. Just… Reaver. Suddenly. Right there.

Logan shot him a sideways glance, taking the offered drink and raising it to his lips, "Well. This party isn't something I expected to be faced with this evening."

It is all he gave by way of an answer, turning his gaze back out at the room and trying to pretend he wasn't very aware of Reaver's eyes on him.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

Pausing by the steps, Barry turned and glanced over at the Queen, his eyes slowly roving up to her face.

"Majesty..?" He said, slowly. Barry turned to face her completely, his eyes flicking down to her chest once again before moving up to hold her gaze.

Noticing Barry's eyes traveling over her, the Queen's words caught uncomfortably in her throat. Heart pounding and swallowing hard, she tried to force some words, any words from her mouth as she caught sight of the two-toned eyes she recalled from before; even in his balverine form one seemed lighter than the other.

"I wanted to, er, harass you a bit more about your balverine… 'tendencies.' I simply think it would be important information to have involving the investigation… perhaps we could go somewhere a little quieter, where we could, uh, talk… talk about this…"

Catching sight of his eyes lingering over her chest for a moment she stammered, "…just by ourselves, yes?"

A smirk stole slowly over the butler's face, and arching a brow, he inclined his head in a nod, "Of couwse, Pwincess. Shall we?"

Barry nodded his head and headed up the steps, and into the dining room. Shutting the door behind them, he lent against the table, eying her with wickedly bright eyes.

"Now… What can I do fow you..?"

And once again, his eyes flicked up and down her frame.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

Benjamina entered the kitchen to find some of the chefs and maids in utter confusion. Some were cooking; some were off in a corner talking frantically among one another. The smell that had been in the kitchen earlier was fouler than before. She held the broom close and trotted over to the group in the corner, "What's going on here? I want in, let me see!"

She pushed her way through as people allowed her, more than happy to get out of the way. She nearly tumbled toward the front but thankfully didn't because if she had, she would have stepped on top of a lovely, mangled corpse.

Benjamina turned tail, pushing past the legit employees and pushed open the kitchen doors,

"THERE'S A BODY, THERE'S A BODY. IT'S DEAD. IT'S BLEEDING ALL OVER THE KITCHEN AND WE COOK IN THERE."

Dorian barely understood what was going on around until the light dimmed and then… _well, what a quick change of ambiance._ He shouldn't have been surprised, as Reaver was, as usual, a perfect host and would certainly not let any incident ruin the party.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll—"

_A Dorian interrupted twice in one night is an angry Dorian._ He registered a maid coming back from the kitchen screaming like a wounded animal about a dead body in the kitchen. _Perfect. Absolutely PERFECT._

"DEAR SKORM! What in the world must I do to be able to finish a sentence here?"

Dead body or not, Dorian needed a drink. The young king stomped angrily to the nearest table and grabbed a glass, positively fulminating.

Reaver glanced at the kitchen and rolled his eyes a bit, setting his glass down.

"Logan, if you will excuse me."

Not like he needed to worry, the drink he had given the man was enough to knock a balverine out …all puns aside, he was pleasantly irritated. But one could never tell with a face such as _his_. He pushed past the servant whom he still did not realize was his pleasant little stalker, and stepped up to the body the servants crowded around.

"Well? What are you all standing there for? Toss it out back; I'll have it taken care of tomorrow…" Reaver took the body in with a single glance, and could not make out whom could have done it, but then he really didn't care. He waved his servants away as a few came and began to drag the half decomposed body out to the back where the guard would pick it up in the morrow. He left the kitchen, pushing past Benjamina, his hand brushing her hip as he moved, coming back to Logan who he wondered how much of the drink the man had and taking a long drink of his own.

"So, with that taken care of, Logan. What brings you to my, boudoir?"

What with the serving-girl dealing him a second thwack and then bursting out of the kitchen again ten seconds later screaming about a body, Logan felt he might as well give up pretending that this evening was going to be anything even remotely resembling normal.

He snorted quietly and raised the glass again, draining it in one and placing the empty glass on the table beside him before leaning back to watch the crowd again. It was a minute or two before something started to feel…a bit odd. Sort of… _swimmy_. As though the world wasn't moving at quite the right speed. He blinked a few times and shook his head, trying to clear it, just as Reaver came swaggering back up beside him. Again, he barely cast the man a glance, placing a hand on the table next to him to surreptitiously steady himself as he spoke.

"Too much time spent stuck in a castle isn't good for a man. It's about time I started reasserting myself." Logan said. _Had to start somewhere._

Reaver smiled as he saw that his drink had taken effect and rested his hand on the man's shoulder, pulling him up, "Logan, you don't look so good! Come let me bring you upstairs away from the drawl!"

Without allowing the man to respond he pulled him along up the red carpeted stairs and into a set of rooms, shutting the hall door behind him. They were cut off and in silence aside from the wafting music.

"So tell me, how have you been keeping yourself occupied, hm?" Reaver purred.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Logan figured that this probably wasn't a wise idea. But Reaver's grip on his arm was insistent and his head was spinning more and more by the second. He allowed himself to be hauled upstairs and deposited in a set of lavishly-decorated rooms, vaguely hearing the door click shut. He leant his back against the wall and brought a hand up to his forehead, screwing his eyes shut and trying to bring the world back into focus

"I, er…just…you know, nothing particularly…not much." He finished lamely, fully aware that he had just made absolutely no sense, but not really caring to correct himself.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

Seeing how Reaver had so readily disregarded the corpse, Walter squeezed by the crowd of people gathering around the kitchen. The mangled body looked like the remnants of a kitchen maid. Reaver's dismissal of the situation had his servants swarming around to clean up after it. As they carried the body away, Walter walked closer to get a detailed look. and on the floor, unmistakably, mixed with blood spatters, were long strands of ginger hair…

Walter picked up a strand and looked at it carefully. It was very clearly the same hair from that beast Barry who transformed into a balverine just last night. He looked around the room; Barry was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Reaver and Logan had both disappeared as well.

Still clutching her broom, Benjamina tiptoed over to Walter and peered around him to see what he was holding, "Who do you think did it, sir? That body was probably lying around here for a while since when I first entered which was… a few hours ago."

"Sounds like a good idea to me, Walter." Page's voice came, once again seemingly coming out of nowhere. She stared at Benjamina.

"I'm not quite sure we have met…" Studying her, Page asked, "Who are you?"

"Um. Hello, mum. I'm one of Reaver's chefs. Would you like something to eat?" Benjamina grasped the broom handle like her dear life depended on it.

"Page! Nice of you to show up. I found these lying around the body." Walter showed her the strands of ginger hair, "I have no doubt it was that Barry is who's been going around mauling people. If you'll both excuse me, I think I'll go summon the guards from the castle to break up this macabre party."

As Walter took his exit, Page moved closer to the unassuming servant girl, "Chef, huh? How long have you been working here?"

Enjoying his drink by the table, Dorian realized that his siblings were already getting the party going. Reaver disappeared with Logan—_ah, he needs it anyway_—and the lovely Queen went somewhere with Barry—_not to question her choices, but this man was creepy._And so he was left with the guests, Walter, who took in his care the investigation of the dead body, the weird but rather pretty maid and… _oh, there was Page, who just invited herself at the perfect moment to join the investigation._ The king should probably have tried to investigate too, but… _nah, too boring._ There were already a few corpses at Sunset House and one more here is not a big deal. He finally made his way to Page and the maid, because there was nothing better to do.

"So?" Dorian took a sip of his drink, "Who's dead, who's the culprit and who do we need to execute?"

Benjamina answered Page, as to not give herself away, "…'bout three weeks, mum. Was employed after Reaver shot his last chef for not cooking his favorite dish in time."

The truth was that the real chef was indeed killed three weeks ago and Reaver had quickly employed another, who was actually shot the next day for failure of listening to commands. Reaver had gone through five chefs in a matter of… three weeks. The current one was actually in the cellar, knocked out.

"If you don't mind, I would really like it if you would… shoo." Benjamina began lightly swatting at the Page's ankles with her broom.

Meanwhile, Walter had gathered up a handful of guards and briefed them on the goings on at Reaver's mansion. Their orders were to capture Barry Hatch and lock him up before he can maul anyone else. The thought of the Queen alone with him made Walter shudder. But being a hero, he figured she could take care of herself at least until they arrive. They marched down the moonlit streets of Millfields, steadily approaching Reaver's mansion.

Within said mansion, the fiery Page did not take kindly to having her ankles swatted by the chef girl's broom. She pointed her gun at the suspicious servant girl and said, "Well, if you are his staff then I believe it would be in your best interest to escort me to him."

"Whoa, whoa, wait, what?" Benjamina released the broom and held her hands up, "Wait a second, I can't do anything unless the master calls for me or else it's a bullet to my head, miss!"

"We do not need Reaver's calling." Page smiled, clicking the hammer, "I would prefer not to kill you, but you are either with us or with Reaver… who _is_ suspected of murder, mind you."

"Oh, fine, you… you nitwit, you!" Benjamina bent down to pick up her broom then turned on her heel and guided the woman out of the kitchens.

Dorian put down his glass on the nearest table, quirking an eyebrow as Page threatened the maid with her gun. First, he was interrupted by a dead body in the kitchen. And now he was absolutely IGNORED by what wasn't better than a bunch of peasants. Dorian was definitely not a satisfied monarch right then. He drew his own gun nonchalantly, waving it like a warning.

"Page dear, would you mind not threatening the servants? I believe Reaver is discussing business right now or something, not that I really care—what are you doing here anyway? Don't you have some poor to help or something?" Dorian rambled.

Page stared at the drunken ex-king, "Umm… I… never mind that!"

Poking Benjamina with the gun, Page demanded, "Led us to him, Benjamina! Now!"

Walter and the guards arrived at the mansion to a scattered crowd of people. Some were making out on the chairs, others were drinking, and even some have already passed out on the floor. He saw Dorian in the main hall and called to him.

"Dorian! Have you seen the Queen? We need to have Barry arrested. Right now."

"I-I…" Benjamina sputtered, not sure what to do since the Queen's guards came raging in, kicking some of the guests off their chairs and essentially cock-blocking everyone who was about to get some. One man went running from the castle naked as one of the old knight's guards chased after him, presumably to arrest him.

Page stared angrily at Benjamina, "Walter! This girl knows where Reaver is! Get the guard to force some answers our of her!"

"N-No, I don't! Not now, at least! The last time I saw him was when he went into the kitchens to see the body!" Whispering, Benjamina added with a shiver, "…_andtouchedme!_"

"Guards!"

Walter motioned for the guards to restrain Benjamina. He knew he'd be hopelessly lost in that maze of a mansion. Two royal guards each grabbed Benjamina's arms.

"Take us to Reaver, miss."

Page pointed her gun as well, "NOW!"

Dorian remained behind the crowd, annoyed and above all, ignored. What in the world would he need to do to get attention? Seeing Page just shrugging off his interruption and Walter calling to him like some random servants… _With the guards? Woah, woah, woah…Why the guards were there anyway?_

Not even bothering to answer Walter or even voice his anger at Page, Dorian simply lifted his gun and shot at the ceiling, "If you find Reaver, tell him I require compensation for this MESS called a party where I actually made an effort to be present and was treated like a peasant!"

Everyone jumped and some shrieked. In the silence that followed the deafening burst, a few chunks of dust and cieling pattered on the floor.

"Well done, Your Majesty." Page said.

"Well, Dorian, care to join us?" Walter said, irate but unfazed. He had watched the tempermental boy grow up and was no stranger to his outbursts.

"Oh sure, whatever, I guess I have nothing better to do since you just CRASHED the party!" Angry, Dorian decided to follow anyway because, yes, obviously, now that the guests are scattering away and the guards were in the place, there was nothing better to do than to try to find Reaver.

"But I don't know where he is!" Benjamina cried—half cried. The guards that were holding her down were quite… _mmmph_. She wouldn't mind romping with one, actually. She then jumped at the sound of Dorian's gun going off once more.

"I'm going, I'm going!" She began walking, gently pulling at the guards to follow her lead up the staircase.

Page kept her gun firmly behind the suspicious servant girl's head and said, "Please do hurry it up."

Benjamina pouted and continued onward with the troupe, more lost than before as she murmured, "HE'S AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE."

* * *

><p><em>{ Find illustrations, character profiles, extras and more at the Fabled Albion page; fabledalbion .wordpress .com! }<em>


	4. Return to the 'Haus of Reaver', pt II

Reaver smiled, watching the former King fall into delirium. He walked up to him and took Logan's chin in hand, looking him over and then shrugging and letting go.

"You seem quite drunk right now, Logan…" Reaver seated himself on a rather lavish love seat under the window, motioning the man to come and sit with him.

"Come, I don't bite… hard, anyway. Tell me, what ails you?" Reaver was thinking, planning, how to go about getting the old King out of his pants.

_You're being an idiot,_the tiny little unaffected part of Logan's mind told him_._ You know you didn't drink that much. He heard it, but it took a while to register. In the meantime, he laboriously tried to focus his gaze on Reaver's eyes as his head was lifted, but just as he managed it the other man turned away—gliding across the room and depositing himself in a loveseat. He beckoned… and Logan followed.

Logan wasn't even aware he had moved—one minute he was at the wall, the next he had collapsed into the seat beside Reaver. Closing his eyes again, he tilted his head back, hoping in vain that the world would stop moving around him. Then he remembered.

"If I find," Logan snarled quietly in a vague attempt to sound intimidating. "That you did something to that drink…"

The rest of the words simply faded, lost somewhere on the way from his brain to his mouth.

Reaver smiled and laughed lightly, sitting closer to Logan and pulling him over, holding the man's chin once more in a firm grasp.

"Now why would I do that? Why on earth would I ever do such a shameless thing?" Reaver laughed lightly, already close enough to Logan to feel his breath upon him, "Come now, you mustn't thing me so low, why don't you relax?"

Logan gritted his teeth, but allowed Reaver to shift closer and take his chin again. Logan opened his eyes to glare at him, breathing heavier than he would have liked.

"Wouldn't put it below you…" He knew he should move – stand up, walk to the door and leave–but moving his limbs seemed like it would be a mammoth effort right now.

Reaver smiled, seeing the dislike, "Oh relax, Logan boy!"

He leaned in, moving closer and closer, until he had Logan pressed into the love seat under him, his pervish smile growing more and more.

"Relax for me! I know you have wanted this…"

_That smile. That damned smile._ Logan had always hated that smile (was hated the right word…?). Seeing it there, hovering barely inches from his own lips, proved, in the state he was in, to be too much. With a growl, somewhat more effective than the last, he grasped Reaver's dark hair with one hand and hauled him down, their lips meeting in a deep, bruising kiss. Anything to wipe that bloody smile off his face.

Reaver jumped, not having not expected that! So quick, and his hair! But at this moment, with Logan's lips on his own, he really just did not have enough gall to care.

Reaver kissed him back, pressing closer to him and completely giving in. He pulled Logan up back into a seating position by the collar of his…top and gripped him close, tongue licking at the others lips. He sat back, still smiling his prized smile.

"My my…"

But that was all he could breathe out as he leaned back, still smiling.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

The Queen had followed close behind Barry before gathering her composure, reminding herself that it was all strictly investigation; for a moment, as the door shut, she thought she heard someone yell something about the kitchen, but she disregarded it, being as close to Barry as she was.

"I need to know just what you know about being a balverine, Barry. You have to have a clue as to what triggers the transformations… as much as I want to believe you're just taking the blame for another stray balverine's work, there is just too much evidence pointing to you. How often to balverines leave Silverpines… for Millfields, no less? Where there is already a balverine…"

She stepped closer to the butler, looking up at him through long lashes.

Barry's smirk slipped somewhat, and with a stiff shrug he looked away.

"It's usually night time, ow I'm upset, angwy, sad, ow something like that."

He glanced back down at her, his eyes riding up the curvature of her neck. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he had to cross his arms to keep himself from doing something very, very inappropriate. Despite himself and his usual careless approach at seduction (or his own version at least), this _was_ the Queen, and a slow rot in jail wasn't appealing.

"As fow Balvewines, thewe's quite a few in Millfields … you'd be su'pwised. The guawds usually fwighten 'em off, but, well, you know."

He shrugged again, eyes slipping from her face and down, then back up.

The Queen nodded and glanced down at the floor, unaware of just how close she had stopped in front of him. She brought a hand up to her cheek unconsciously again, and then brushed a stray lock of hair from her face.

"Can you remember anything when you transform? Even when you try?"

Barry's entire body felt heated, and when he drew in a breath, it was a tad ragged. In his mind's eye, he could see a fork in the distance. In one direction was the possibility of jail, in the other, was the possibility of death. A frown broke over his face, and he glanced down at the woman before himself again.

"Nothing, Majesty."

His mind ticked away for a few more moments, and he winced inwardly (but only in slight) as his mind dutifully made itself up. Reaching out, he caught the Queen about the hips and dragged her up to him, a grin having slapped itself across his face.

"But how about me make some memowies?"

With her body brushing against his, feeling both heated and feeling something jabbing into her thigh, the Queen was once again left frozen.

"I… I… B-Barry, we can't, I-I-I'm the Queen and, well… We…"

She looked up into Barry's eyes, once again admiring that one was a vivid amber and the other sapphire. She took a deep breath, feigning courage. Why was it that had he been anyone else, be it Page, Reaver, or even Ben, she would have happily returned a quick and sultry witticism, but with Barry of all people, she was left with utterly nothing to say

"…we can just keep this between us, then…"

She leaned up and grazed her lips over Barry's, wrapping her arms slowly around his shoulders, heart racing—it tasted like alcohol and… something… metallic?

He hadn't expected victory. A slap in the face, a knife in the chest, a bullet to the head … but not this. Surprise momentarily stayed his actions, but a second later he was returning the Queen's kiss feverishly.

His hands dropped from her hips to her behind, his fingers curling gently. Well, better than expected was slowly turning into far better than expected.

"You'we secwet is absolutely safe with me, Pwincess."

He purred with a grin, lifting a hand from her rear to stroke her cheek.

"How 'bout we move somewhewe a tad mowe pwivate, hmm?"

He glanced around the dinning hall, then pointed to a door on the left.

She pushed Barry back against the table, utilizing a bit more of her pugilist strength than she had intended and broke the kiss with a sultry grin,

"…who doesn't want to be able to say they made 'memowies' on their boss's dining room table?"

Intoxicated with Barry's kisses and tugging at the buttons of his coat she grinded gently against him, eliciting a sigh from her lips and curling her fingers against him.

Surprise flared once again in his eyes, but then a rough grin snaked across his face and all at once he'd straightened a little and was shrugging out of his coat. It slithered to the floor and he was on her again, his hands already fumbling with the laces of her corset.

His mouth found hers again in a hungry embrace, and slowly he managed to strip her down to his skivvies.

"He'll kill me if he sees me doing this…" He muttered with a laugh as he caught the queen and gently pressed her down upon the table, his body coming to cover hers. With his sex pressed against her and separated only by a layer or two of clothing, his entire body was aflame, but there was time, and he wanted her. All of her. As his tongue moved to penetrate her mouth, he freed one of his hands from the surface of the table and caught her chest… in an appreciative manner. His fingers danced over her breasts, pausing to pinch and play, his blue eye open a crack to watch his actions.

She sighed and mewled against his lips and coppery tongue, unable to disregard the thought that for some strange reason, his mouth tasted like blood. When he tugged off her clothes, any thoughts in her mind vanished and she succumbed to the one desire growing into a powerful flame in her core.

"Ahh… Barry… I want you…" She sighed.

When she felt his hands moving over her breasts, she giggled at her most ticklish region being stimulated and a reflexive left elbow shot out, meeting Barry's jaw.

"O-oh Avo! Barry, I'm s-sorry!"

She bolted up to reach for the spot she had struck on accident and her knee dug into him in one hard, clumsy sweep.

The initial elbow to the face wasn't what did it. What did it was the knee to the crotch, and with a grunt the man rolled off and onto the floor, landing with a thud.

A second passed before he picked himself up, a small dribble of blood leaking from where he'd bitten his lip. Bringing a hand up to it, he wiped it away and glanced up at her, a grin slowly stealing away the pain.

"You'we dangewous.. I like that in a woman."

His grin deepened, becoming almost feral as he climbed back up to meet her, his body pinning her to the table once more. Catching her wrists, he hoisted them above her head, pinning them there as his mouth began to wind its way down her throat. He paused by its base to give suck, bruising the delicate flesh before moving further. His free hand managed to work her bra away, and his lips closed around one soft pink nipple.

His tongue flicked at the bud, his pelvis slowly rocking against hers as his body slipped further and further into heat. He switched to her other breast, his mouth enveloping her nipple, his eyes rising to watch her face. The sounds she made were positively ambrosial, and fuck all if he was in pain from holding back. It was almost worth it to tease his way down.

Before she could ask if he was alright, he had tackled her again and pinned her down with her bare back against the cold, smooth surface of the table. She sighed and squeezed her eyes shut, moaning his name softly and letting her nails drag along his back until her hands came to the back of his head. Grabbing fistfuls of hair, she pulled, delighting in the sound it stirred from Barry

She heard noises beyond the dining room door and knew what she had to do.

Gathering her courage, she moved against him, unable to resist the need any longer. In one swift motion, she threw Barry off of her—he was far lighter than she had expected and he landed on the floor with a thump and a grunt.

She made her way down to the floor with Barry in the shadows behind the table, ignoring the noises outside yet again and resuming rough, clumsy kisses, letting his hands travel across her body and straddling his waist, grinding their hips together in a lustful haze as she whispered against his lips,

"…be quiet."

Benjamina led her 'little' group, which was composed of Walter, Page, Dorian, herself and the royal guards which ranged from Logan's elites to the new queen's court and burst into the dining room where Barry and the Queen were.

"Whoa! Sorry about that! Just …looking for Reaver is all!" Benjamina managed to hold the broom to her face as she crab-walked past the …two engaging individuals and to the other side of the room, "I… think over here, maybe?"

Benjamina pushed open a door which led to another hallway and walked in. Page had followed close behind with the troupe of soldiers and her jaw utterly dropped when she caught a glimpse of the Queen and Reaver's ginger butler disappearing behind the table.

"What the f—" Page had been muttering before following Benjamina into the connecting hall.

Walter had seen nothing over the guard's large helms and followed obliviously behind Page.

Dorian… he didn't even give a look in their direction, because, to put it simply, he was being an angry, pouting child. But if he had… _ew, let's just go over here_…

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

Logan glared at the floor, licking his own lips and briefly wondering why the hell he'd just done what he did. Then he glanced at the man beside him, and that smile was back. Once again he felt a rush of hatred (it really wasn't hatred…), and he surged to his feet, dragging Reaver up with him by the lapels of his jacket and slamming him hard against the nearest wall.

Pinning him there, he leant in and claimed his lips again, biting down this time almost hard enough to draw blood, one knee forcing in between Reaver's thighs. Had enough. Enough of his goading, his mocking, his constant attempts to push his limits, and enough of that smile.

Reaver was startled, then relaxed into him, arms wrapping around Logan's thick neck, a leg rubbing at the man's hips. He let his jacket fall away out of sheer annoyance of its sudden existence. He pressed his chest harder to Logan's and let an eye slip open to try and figure out where the man planned to do all this… surely not the wall… right? He was too smashed for that!

Or was he…?

Logan wasn't exactly planning ahead. As of that moment, the wall was as good a place as any as he slid one hand down Reaver's chest and lower, groping at the man's crotch. He kept his mouth firmly occupied, biting down hard on his lips then soothing the sting with his tongue, whilst his hand found its way inside Reaver's trousers and, subsequently, underwear, working him steadily.

Reaver was already moaning, cheeks flushed deeply as he found himself being played with. He reached down and undid his trousers, letting them slip away. He pulled the man into a deeper kiss, tongue tangled with his as his hands grip at his top and pulls it away and let it fall to the ground where his pants await.

Reaver kicked his leg free of his pant leg and wraps it around Logan's wait to pull his crotch closer to his own and let his hips rub slowly, needily.

Benjamina had been bursting in through various doors, expecting to see Reaver behind them but they were either met with nothing or just couples having sex or engaged in orgies. Finally, she opened one more door and viola!

"HE'S ABOUT TO PUT HIS PENIS IN THE KING!"

Page stared at Logan and then exclaimed, before hiding her face in Walter's chest, "LOGAN! REAVER! OH, MY AVO!"

Walter gasped in utter shock as he hugged Page close and took a step back, "What in Avo's name… IS THIS WHAT HAPPENS AT THESE PARTIES?"

Page clutched at Walter's chest, murmuring in revulsion, "I knew there was corruption in this kingdom when Logan ruled!"

Dorian had been following behind absently, drunkenly, deciding that following the servant girl around wasn't a bad idea. As bad as the night was, Reaver's mansion had some pretty decoration. _Whatever._ And when they finally found the room they were looking for, Dorian was surely not prepared to see… well, half-naked Reaver was alright, but the thing Dorian was certain that he did _not_ want to see was Reaver and his older brother half-naked.

"Alright. Alright… would you mind putting your pants back on while we're here? Seeing my brother naked was NOT in my plans tonight. Definitely not. Just… no." Dorian groaned.

Walter patted Page on the shoulder in effort to comfort her, but he himself was in a state of utter shock, "Reaver! Your servant Barry is the culprit of all these murders… and you let him roam around here while you… you…"

This was too much for an old man to bear.

"OH DAMMIT IT ALL TO BLOODY SKORM." Logan forced himself to break the kiss, panting heavily as Reaver rutted against him, and shot a glare that, if looks could kill, would have blasted the intruders into a very fine dust.

"Does no one KNOCK anymore?" Logan growled.

From somewhere in that invasive troupe, Logan heard the servant girl chime, "I see Logan's ass!"

Dorian had seen more than enough, "Y'know what? I'm certainly not staying in the same room as my older brother getting some with Reaver. If any of you are looking for me, I'll be somewhere lost in this damned mansion looking for some nice entertainment."

Dorian stepped back, retreating out of the room, ready to leave as soon as possible, "Have fun in there!"

Reaver laughed heartily and shook his head, pulling Logan into another deep kiss before turning to those who had come in, "Please, if you need me you may have me after me and Logan are done here."

He waved his hand dismissively and then pulled the former king into another kiss, "Tatty-Bye, duckies."

"M… maybe you should leave them alone… maybe we should just… leave for now… _this-is-kind-of-hot._" Benjamina lead the troupe out.

Whatever it was that Reaver had drugged Logan with was clearly still having an effect—rather than throwing himself away from the other man and pretending nothing had happened, Logan allowed himself to be pulled right back into the kiss, completely ignoring the gun in the rebel's hand. He knew what he wanted, and he was going to take it whether they were standing there or not.

Moaning into the kiss, he pulled Logan closer once more, dropping Logan's pants, finally. He played with the lace on his own under wear, undoing it and letting them fall. With his vest and undershirt still on, he unbuttoned the vest, and then he pulled Logan back once more into the kiss. He moaned softly and rubbed against him, wanting him now, wishing he would hurry.

"I need you," he managed to whisper against the other's lips before reclaiming them.

That was all the prompting Logan needed. Kicking his leg free of his trousers, he broke the kiss, forcibly turned Reaver on the spot and slammed him back against the wall, facing it this time, closing in behind him. If the others weren't gone by now, they were going to be sadly mistaken if they though their being there would stop him.

There was nothing to hand to use as preparation, so he resorted to his own saliva, spitting onto his hand and slicking himself up. In the state of frantic need he was in he gave little thought to preparing Reaver—simply lined up and pushed into the tight heat, a groan escaping him as he did so.

Reaver's cry was far from pain, but it was there, and he was so overwhelmed by the blissful warmth and feeling that washed across him and he moaned loudly. His body pressed back into Logan's and he turned, kissing the side of the man's lips softly, before placing his forehead against the wall and groaning.

"Move… in me…"

Logan pulled his head back, out of the reach of the other man's lips, instead ducking it and pressing his forehead against Reaver's shoulder. Then he began to move, hard and rough and fast, teeth clamping down on skin now and then to muffle his own desperate moans.

Moaning in time with the thrusts, Reaver groaned a bit and pressed his hips back, reaching around to play with himself as he does, unable to help the small smile, forehead rubbing against the wall, "Ah! That's it!"

Logan wanted to shut him up, instead biting down nastily hard on the spot when his neck joined his shoulder, drawing blood by way of a warning. He didn't want to hear his voice, nor see his face—didn't want reminding that this was Reaver, who he had tried to fend off for so long, determined never to end up in exactly this situation. He just wanted what he was getting, savage satisfaction, and tried to put the fact of who it was far out of his mind.

○Ξ○Ξ○Ξ○

When the troupe was gone, Barry gave a soft sigh and then broke the kiss. Grinning like a balverine, he flipped them again and went about removing her panties. His lips left a trail of kisses down her stomach, and then along her thigh, moving closer and closer to her core with each whispered kiss.

His mouth brushed her core, his tongue snaking out to trail up and down her lips before darting out. He moved in further, mouth lapping gently at her honeyed core before rising to suck at her clit. His erection throbbed painfully in his skivvies, and it was getting hard to hold back. A weak groan wound its way out of his throat, but he made no move to aid the problem.

The Queen squirmed from his tongue on her slickened sex and moaned his name as she pulled his hair. With a feverish growl, she pushed Barry down onto the marble floor, topping him and tearing his skivvies down his waist. In one sultry motion she grips his hands, tearing them from their smooth motions on her ticklish waist and holds them down at his sides.

"One warning. Tickle me again, accident or not, and you _will_ be hurt." She went back to kissing him, grinding against his hard length with only her silk panties teasingly barring him from entry.

He struggled momentarily against her grasp, then gave up, and almost pained look crossing his face.

"I ain't got no pwoblem with you bein' on top, but please,"

He ground his teeth together, his wickedly sharp canines glinting in the light

"I'm in pain, so make it soon."

She froze when she catches sight of the sharp, extending teeth.

_"Oh, Avo…"_

Using her surprise, he managed to free his wrists from her grip and catch her shoulders. Flipping the woman, he smirked, his eyes glinting in the candlelight.

"Don't suppose you want me to be gentle, Majesty?"

He chuckled at his joke and bent to kiss her, a hand coming down to remove her undergarments. Once he'd removed them, he lifted his face and gazed at her intently, optics flashing a soft yellow momentarily.

Despite her increasing fear, she swallowed hard and went with her gut instinct. Perhaps she could quell this rising threat, perhaps not. But she was the Hero Queen of Albion; she had decimated hundreds and was a renowned fighter—she could handle this and she wanted this. Nothing would stand in her way, not even if she had to hold down a thrashing, drooling balverine to be with her Barry…

As she let him take her, she moaned and gripped him, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer, harder. She did a double take mentally – had she just called him her Barry? Brushing the thought aside, she pushed him once again onto his back, holding him down and fighting for dominance as she bounced up and down. Her thoughts became less coherent and a haze of lust clouded her mind. She did not even realize that it was getting harder to pin down the typically weak Barry.

"Aaahh! Oh, Avo… Barry!"

His mind had shut down faster than he could follow, and suddenly all he could think to do was watch her rise him with heavily lidded eyes. His breathing had grown increasingly labored, and though he felt her grip weakening, he made no move to break away. The rush of pleasure that coursed through him surpassed any possible want to move.

He kept his gaze locked on her face, his lips parted slightly. Her sounds were intoxicating, and he found after a moment or two more that he'd begun to move his hips along with hers, keeping in time with her movements.

She arched her back and moaned, moving harder and faster, moving closer to the euphoria she so desperately sought. She gripped his wrists tight enough to bruise, rougher and crueler until her tension peaked at a powerful and body-numbing climax. She felt release wash over her and her strength temporarily faded, leaving her completely at the man's mercy.

He wasn't quite finished, and as he felt her walls restrict around him, he pulled her close and rolled her onto her back. Pressing into her, he stole a rough, deep kiss before he set himself to thrusting.

His body moved against hers for another minute or two before he felt his loins begin to restrict. A pressure built and his eyes flickered shut, his teeth grinding as he fought to stave off his release.

Another minute and he grunted, burying himself deep before he came, spilling his seed deep in the woman.

Panting, he opened an eye to stare down at her, reaching out to move a piece of hair out of her eyes.

With a thin sheen of swat glistening on her skin, she held Barry close, her arms over his shoulders and strewn across the back of his neck as she breathed long, shuddery breaths. She looked up at him into those beautiful mismatched eyes as he brushed hair from her eyes. That one long lock of his asymmetrical hair hung down and she brushed it behind his ear with a warm smile on her face.

Her lips curled into a gentle and tired smile. She stole one quick kiss and pressed her forehead softly against his, still breathless and lost in the throes of euphoria.

"Oh, Barry… I can't say I'll ever forget this memory…" She pulled him into another kiss, lost in sheer happiness.

He returned the kiss slowly, glancing up towards his clothing hastily. He smirked at her words, still buried deep inside her, one hand resting upon her shoulder.

His mouth wandered down to her neck, and his tongue lashed against the soft flesh there, tasting. It was a curious thing that he could smell the blood in her, could feel the vulnerability of her bones and flesh despite her strength greatly outranking his own. His mouth came to suck at her nape, and when he drew away, he'd left a bruise. Another smirk slipped onto his face, and when at last he drew out, he felt a cool shiver run the length of his spine.

"Maybe we should figure out what all that commotion is… do you remember what all that was? I saw guards…"

She eyed her clothes and reached for them, but not without stealing another quick kiss from Barry and flashing him a devilish grin.

Following her lead, he rose and walked over to the pile of clothing they'd left discarded upon the floor. Bending, he picked up her clothes and handed them to her before collecting his own and dressing, his eyes darting up and down her figure in one bid to take in her figure.

Doing up his pants, he reached for his coat and pulled that on as well.

Once fully dressed, he headed for the doors, then paused and glanced back. A sudden, strange guilt crept over him, and he felt almost (almost, because the feeling wasn't all that powerful) bad about leaving. Pausing, he remained by the door, waiting for her to finish, his eyes drifting lazily about the room.

After pulling her clothes back on, she smoothed down any stray locks and cleared her throat. She made her way toward the door, where Barry stood, the realization of what had just happened suddenly hitting her—what in Avo's name had she just done? She had chased the feeling in hopes of brushing the ever-present thought of him out of her mind. After satisfying that bothersome need, she had hoped that he would no longer haunt her; it would be like any other lover she had taken in the past…

But seeing him standing before her, no longer bare naked, glistening with sweat and panting on top of her, saying nothing, she realized that she had only made her feelings worse.

She knew that it was nothing she could pursue further; he was not much different than Reaver.

She clenched her fist, biting her lip and fighting back her anger at herself

"…I… I'm sorry, Barry. I'm such a foolish Queen."

Without warning, her left fist was flying toward Barry in one powerful swing.

Her fist connected with the side of his face, and with a yelp he went flying out of the room. Landing roughly just before the steps, he stayed down for a moment. When he lifted his head, his cheek had reddened, and his eyes had narrowed. Putting a hand to his cheek, he pulled himself up, palm resting upon the banister.

He glanced over his shoulder and then back at the princess, his expression sour. Without cause or thinking, he marched over, stopped himself, and stepped back. He fingered his cravat, then gave a slight growl and shook himself. Marching over to her, he pinned her as best he could in the doorway, his multi-colored eyes flashing.

"Weally don't appweciate that, Pwincess.."

Narrowing her eyes, she cast him a glare—that blow would leave quite a shiner, she knew from experience. But she knew she could not pin the blame on him; she couldn't and she wouldn't. Looking away, pinned between him and the wall she fought back petty emotions.

"I know. Just thought I'd give you something to remember me by."

Thickly, "Fo'w a couple'a days I'm suwe. O'w at least until the bwuise heals."

He gave a nasty sneer and cocked a brow.

"But thank you fow the evening."

Pressing against her again, his mouth met hers in a deep, careless kiss. So it was a tad sadistic, so it was rude and possibly life threatening. She'd given him quite the good punch, and if anything, that had reawaken his sexual drive. Not that it had really gone anywhere.

She kissed back, meeting and challenging his intensity. She couldn't let herself be drawn into another tryst, not when there was so much commotion going on just down the hall. She sent another pugilist's blow to Barry's rib.

bit, he hissed, his optics flashing a vivid yellow before returning to their original shades.

"Violent bitch…"

He growled, pinning her once more against the frame, teeth grit. He made to kiss her again but brushed past her lips, his own coming to feather kisses across her cheek and over her throat.

His lips drew back and his canines danced over her skin, his eyes intent.

"Ahaa… bitch…?"

She moaned at his kisses and the tickle of his sharp teeth dragging across her skin. When she felt those sharp teeth return and saw the yellow flash in his eyes, she winced, knowing that he was losing himself. She fought to push him off, but his strength was growing once again.

"I'll show you a bitch…"

Another harsh blow, this time an uppercut aimed right for Barry's jaw.

He went down again, and remained down. One hand flew up to his jaw, the other pressed against the tiles, holding himself upright. The world spun dangerously, and his head lolled slightly as he tried to steady himself.

A groan wormed its way out of his throat, and slowly he managed to rise to his feet. Staggering towards the steps, he glanced over his shoulder, casting a stung glance before he began down the stairs, one at a time. Slowly.

"…we should do it again sometime?" The Queen flashed him a smirk as she cracked her knuckles.

Irately, he answered, "Doubt it!"

Trudging around the steps, he dropped onto a couch and folded his arm over his eyes, groaning. Well, it had been interesting. His entire body stung in one way or another, and he wasn't quite sure if his pride was up there or not with it.

Her smile faded and she stood there, somewhat sore, both physically and emotionally. She sucked it up — she would take out her regrets on a punching bag some other time.

As she proceeded toward Reaver's room (unaware of the dreadful sight she would walk in on,) she muttered, "…leave it to the fail Queen of Albion…"

* * *

><p><em>{ Find illustrations, character profiles, extras and more at the Fabled Albion page; fabledalbion .wordpress .com! }<em>


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